


The Girl

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, all the feels, description of a burned village, geralt needs to get that stick out his arse, jaskier gets to fight, proud Geralt, soft, they find a lost girl and Jaskier wants to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22578463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: They eventually came upon the village and Geralt pulled Roach to a sharp halt.The place had been decimated, burned to the ground. Geralt could see by the smouldering embers of buildings, this had happened at some point during the night.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 152





	The Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated. Thank you!

A misty rain hung in the air. The kind that soaks you through before you know it. The muddy ground squelched underfoot, and the cold air caught in the lungs.

They had been traveling for the better part of a day, the Witcher astride his chestnut mare, and the Bard keeping pace beside them. There was no particular destination in mind. Just wandering until the next adventure found them. 

This suited Jaskier because the Witcher was more agreeable when he asked to stop for a rest. Usually, if they were on the hunt, Geralt was less lenient. 

He was tired, he was cold, he was wet, and even though it was safe in its travel case, he was worried the damp might get to his lute.

Geralt had agreed they’d stop in the next village and Jaskier let out a sigh of relief when he saw glowing lights in the distance.

Darkness rolled in quickly and they arrived in the village as the rain dissipated, allowing the moon to peak from behind a cloud.

Struggling to feel his fingers and toes, Jaskier hopped on the spot, blowing on his cold hands as Geralt dismounted and settled Roach in the tavern’s stable.

The Witcher patted her nose, whispering something Jaskier couldn’t hear and he became impatient.

“Flirt with your horse some other time. I’m about to freeze to death, standing out here,” he grumbled.

“Hm,” Geralt grunted giving Roach one last stroke before striding past Jaskier towards the tavern.

“Thank the Gods,” Jaskier scurried after him.

The delicious warmth of the tavern washed over him as he bustled inside after the Witcher. He could immediately feel himself thawing and couldn’t wait to get by the fireplace to dry out a little. 

He was very aware of the many patrons staring at Geralt but, as usual, Geralt took no notice, marched to the bar and ordered food and ale from the barkeep, as well as inquiring about rooms for the night.

Jaskier spotted an empty table in the corner quite near the hearth and bee lined for it, taking his lute out of its case and giving it a quick once over.

It wasn’t long before Geralt joined him, placing two tankards and two plates of bread and meat on the table.

“Cheers,” Jaskier bumped his tankard off Geralt’s then took a deep drink.

Geralt looked around at the villagers in the tavern, most of whom were still staring at him, and couldn’t help but feel there was something… off about them. He couldn’t place what it was, and it bothered him. He ignored Jaskier’s attempt at conversation and narrowed his eyes in thought.

Jaskier rolled his eyes at him, stuffed another piece of bread in his mouth, took another swig of ale then sprung up in front of the fireplace, his lute held lightly in his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Bard announced loudly, drawing the attention in the room to himself, “My name is Jaskier and I’d be honoured to entertain you for the evening.”

He paused and when no one protested, he launched straight into a jaunty tune about the rolling mountains and the mysteries beyond. 

Geralt leaned back in his chair, his surveillance of the patrons distracted by the Bard who was weaving about the tables, animated and charming.

It never ceased to amaze him how quickly Jaskier could capture a room. It wasn’t long before he had built up a patter with some of the patrons, cracking jokes and receiving laughs. As the crowd relaxed into his set, the drink flowed more freely and it wasn’t long before there were people up dancing and singing along, much to the Bard’s delight.

Geralt grunted as Jaskier perched himself on the end of their table, throwing the Witcher a wink and launching into a song about the time Geralt faced off with a basilisk.

This close, Geralt could see the speed Jaskier’s fingers glided and flitted over the lute’s strings, and he could hear the resonance and vibrations in Jaskier’s voice. 

He kept his amber glare on his tankard, trying to ignore the strange feeling tugging at his gut.

“Thank you, thank you,” Jaskier beamed as the villagers applauded, “Now my dear audience, any requests?”

A few people shouted songs at him but the one that came out clearest was Toss A Coin.

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Jaskier got comfortable on the table then pointed at Geralt, “This one’s for you, you sexy beast.”

Geralt almost snorted into his ale.

“When a humble Bard  
Graced a ride along  
With Geralt of Rivia  
Along came this song,”

Jaskier sang, his voice rich with feeling.

The Witcher grunted, helping himself to Jaskier’s abandoned tankard. He would never tell Jaskier, but he had heard this song enough to remember every lyric and he couldn’t help but lament on how this song, and its creator had changed his life for the better. If it hadn’t been for Jaskier, he would still have been the Butcher of Blavikin and not the less feared, more respected Witcher he was today.

Most of the villagers joined in when Jaskier hit the chorus.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher  
O’ valley of plenty, O’ valley of plenty,  
O’ O’  
Toss a coin – “

The door to the tavern slammed open letting a wave of cold air sweep the room and making the flames dance in the hearth.

A tall, broad man stalked through the door, draped in a rugged brown cloak and a heavy looking sword strapped to his belt. Four more men filed in behind him, each armed and in brown cloaks.

A terrified hush befell the patrons and Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the men for interrupting, but Geralt’s steadying hand on his arm stopped him from saying anything.

The tall man dragged his grey gaze across the room and when he spotted the Bard and the Witcher, his lip curled.

“Your kind aren’t welcome here,” he sneered.

“Well that’s not very nice,” Geralt kept his amber eyes locked with the mans, “He’s just a Bard.”

Jaskier snickered and the man advanced like a cloud of thunder.

“You Witcher,” he spat, “Get out of my tavern.”

“Hm,” Geralt tilted his head.

“Your tavern?” Jaskier slid off the table, defiance burning in his blue eyes, not quite squaring up to the man as the man’s bulk made it impossible, but definitely trying to appear braver than he felt. Again, he felt Geralt pull at his arm, but he wasn’t about to let this man talk to his friend like that.

“My village. My tavern. So, sit down Bard,” the man pushed Jaskier hard and he collided painfully with the table.

Geralt was instantly on his feet, reaching to draw his sword but checked himself.

The four men behind the first had also drawn their weapons and the terrified faces of the villagers forced him to contain his anger.

If he fought these men, here, now, he knew he would easily beat them, but not without innocent casualties. And not with Jaskier in the firing line either. It was just too risky.

“Fine,” he growled, “We’ll go.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s shock rippled through him and he couldn’t believe Geralt was backing down so easily. 

“Come on Jaskier. They aren’t worth the trouble.”

Geralt took one last deliberate swig from Jaskier’s tankard, folded the remaining meat and bread into a cloth and pocketed it, and then made to leave. He bashed shoulders with the tall man as he passed, and he could hear the man’s shallow breathing hitch in his chest.

Jaskier followed him, quickly placing his lute in its case then slinging it over his shoulder.

“And don’t come back,” the man snarled as the tavern door closed behind them.

“Hmm,” Geralt grumbled to himself as he retrieved Roach and headed out of the village.

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck Geralt? You could have absolutely obliterated those guys in there with a single look. I have never seen you roll over like that. Are you losing your touch?” Jaskier jogged to keep up with the brisk pace the Witcher was setting.

“No,” Geralt frowned, fingers twining in Roach’s reins as he walked next to her, “We will deal with those men tomorrow. The tavern was no place to brawl.”

“Right. So, what are we doing now?”

“Those trees there, we’ll set up camp. No warm, dry bed tonight I’m afraid,” Geralt kept his stoic gaze on the road ahead but he could feel Jaskier’s spirits fall.

“But I’ve just dried out,” he complained.

Geralt just grunted.

The copse of trees a little way off from the village would provide adequate shelter if the rain started again and Geralt hoped the ground under the canopy wouldn’t be too damp. He was thinking more for Jaskier’s comfort than his own. He could fall asleep astride Roach if he needed to sleep at all. 

It wasn’t until the Bard had started following him around that Geralt had really had to consider that the needs of humans and Witcher’s were very different. Jaskier tired quicker and required a steady supply of food and water throughout the day to keep his energy up. He felt the cold and heat more. Jaskier also needed more sleep than Geralt did, which at first, he had found completely bewildering and annoying but, he understood it now. 

Jaskier was also much more fragile than Geralt and broke too easily. There had been many times when Jaskier had patched him up after a hunt but never was he more aware of Jaskier’s mortality than when the Bard got hurt himself. Geralt did everything in his power to make sure Jaskier was well out of harm’s way during a hunt. But this also came with its own problems because the Bard was ridiculously stubborn and once he had set his mind to something there was very little could shift him. He felt so strongly and so deeply, Geralt could hardly understand how he managed to keep himself from straight up unravelling from all the emotions he continuously had to process. And this was another thing that often got the Bard into trouble, like tonight for example, Jaskier had been ready to throw down with five men, much bigger and more armed than himself, just because they had been rude to Geralt. He often let his emotions get the better of him.

Jaskier also seemed to hate silence and tried to fill every waking moment with noise, whether it was music, humming and singing or just plain talking. At first Geralt had been deeply irritated but by now, it was more of a background noise that he tuned into sometimes. And on the rare occasion Jaskier was quiet, Geralt found himself missing his constant jabbering. He had learned so much about humans, and about Jaskier in particular, by letting himself connect to another being and he almost prided himself in his new ability to consider others before himself. 

He had dug a shallow pit for a fire as Jaskier looked out their bedrolls and blankets and quickly gathered as many dry-ish twigs he could find. 

They settled by the flickering heat, Geralt watching Roach as she fed on the grass, Jaskier blinking lazily in his tiredness.

It wasn’t long before the Bard fell asleep and Geralt turned his thoughts back to the men who had confronted him in the tavern, and about the villager’s reactions.

***  
A snapping twig woke Geralt and he turned his head towards the noise. 

It had come from close by and he rolled over silently, reaching for his sword and then shaking the Bard awake.

“Hmm – whozzat – Geralt?” Jaskier mumbled as he rubbed his eyes.

“Shh,” the Witcher hushed, pointing towards the trees on their left.

Jaskier was suddenly wide awake and ready to run or fight, whatever Geralt told him to do next.

Geralt, in his crouch, slowly approached the source of the noise, blade raised, eyes narrowed.

A rustle came, again very close and Geralt sighed, letting his shoulders slump and his sword rest on the earth.

“You can come out. We won’t hurt you,” he grumbled.

He sat back as young man appeared from behind a tree.

“Witcher,” he blinked rapidly, his long brown hair masking his face slightly, “We need your help.”

***  
The next village was only an hours ride away, so for speed, Geralt had allowed Jaskier to sit behind him on Roach.

Many thoughts churned in his mind as he kept his mare steady on the twisting, rocky road.

The young man had pleaded with him to rid the local villages of these men. ‘The Brown Cloaks’ they called themselves. They had come to the land a few months ago, terrorising the people into submission and taking crops and livestock, food, cloth, and coin every few weeks or so. 

Geralt had tried to tell him he didn’t medal in the affairs of men, that he killed monsters, not men. But Jaskier had been quick to remind him of all the times he had broken those rules and gotten involved, so he conceded.

The young man had insisted that they travel to the next village to speak to the baker there. Apparently, the baker had more knowledge of these Brown Cloaks and had been involved in their first wave of attacks. He also promised there would be coin as payment for the Witcher’s trouble which Geralt highly doubted, seeing as how these violent men were keeping the villagers in a state of just being able to support themselves. But he didn’t say so. He had grunted at the young man which Jaskier had assured him meant that they’d take the job, then tidied up the camp.

“One more thing, before you go,” the young man had warned, “Don’t underestimate them. You have no idea what these men are capable of.”

Geralt spurred Roach on as the path became less rocky and he felt Jaskier tighten his grip around his waist a he was jostled about.

“I hope this baker can give us some fresh, warm bread for breakfast for helping him,” Jaskier mumbled into Geralt’s back, “Or some sweet buns. Or some cakes. I’d kill for a cake right about now.”

“Jaskier you couldn’t kill a fly,” Geralt rumbled.

“Not true, I have killed many a fly and they all deserved it too. Jaskier Butcher of the Flies. Doesn’t really have a good ring to it though, does it? Not as impressive as your kill record. I will say though, that killing a fly does take some skill, little buggers.”

“Hm.”

“Always a man of many words. I mean, would it kill you Geralt, to partake in a little conversation once in a while. As much as I love the sound of my own voice, talking to one’s self day in, day out becomes rather tedious and I’d really like you to – are you even listening to me?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the land in front of them. He thought he had just seen… there between the hill and the stretching forest. Pillars of smoke.

He nudged Roach faster and Jaskier almost lost his hold on Geralt as the horse thundered along the road.

They eventually came upon the village and Geralt pulled Roach to a sharp halt.

The place had been decimated, burned to the ground. Geralt could see by the smouldering embers of buildings, this had happened at some point during the night.

The charred remains of corpses were scattered about the blackened earth and Jaskier clasped a hand to his mouth in horror.

Geralt dismounted, sombre as he slowly made his way through the crumbling remains of people’s lives.

Jaskier paused a moment, building up the courage to follow the Witcher, then slid off Roach.

The thing that really hit him was the smell. Burnt wood and cooked meat. His stomach churned as he hurried after Geralt.

“Why?” he managed to ask, his voice small and wavering.

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could bring himself to say. 

There was no doubt in his mind that this was the work of the Brown Cloaks. He kicked a pile of scorched wood that disintegrated to ash. 

Jaskier watched the Witcher make his way round the shells of houses, unable to read the expression set on Geralt’s face.

He drifted over to what looked to have once been a blacksmith’s workshop when something caught his eye.

Jaskier looked back for Geralt but couldn’t see him. Sucking in a breath, the Bard crept slowly towards the corner of a house where he was sure he’d seen movement.

Cautiously, heart in his mouth, he peered round the black stone.

Two large, round, brown eyes stared up at him, brimming with fear.

“Oh,” Jaskier crouched slowly, holding his hands up slightly, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The little girl, 7 or 8 years old, filthy with black soot sat trembling against the wall.

He shuffled forwards a bit and she flinched away from him. Afraid she would bolt, he sat down, crossing his legs under him and tried to make himself look as non-threatening as possible.

“My name is Jaskier,” he spoke softly, kindly, “What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t reply.

“Did you live hear? In this house?” he indicated the burnt-out house she was leaning against.

Again nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” he tried to contain himself, “I promise, my friend and I will get the men who did this.”

She blinked at him.

He noticed she was looking at the lute case strapped to his back.

“You like music?” he tried, laying the case on the floor and taking out his lute.

He strummed gently.

She watched with interest.

He started humming.

Her eyes widened as she recognised the tune. A lullaby most parents sang to their children across the Continent. 

She shuffled a little closer. Jaskier kept playing softly as she edged closer and closer until eventually, she placed her hand on his lute.

He stopped playing and she stared up at him, tears spilling down her face.

Jaskier’s heart broke for her. 

“Hey it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” he placed a wary hand on her arm, and she bundled into him, weeping into his shoulder.

He managed to swing his lute out of the way to make it easier to wrap his arms around her. 

“Jaskier?” he heard his name called and sighed.

“Jaskier?” where was that damn Bard, Geralt grumbled to himself as he made his way back to Roach. He better not have gotten himself into trouble again.

He turned as he heard Jaskier approach, verbal thrashing about wandering off ready on his tongue when he faltered.

Jaskier was holding the hand of a little girl. 

When she spotted Geralt she tried to hide behind Jaskier’s legs, but the Bard crouched next to her and said, “It’s okay. This is my friend. Geralt.”

The little girl stood next to the crouching Jaskier, her small hand tightly squeezing his.

“Um, Jaskier –“ Geralt frowned.

“I found her,” Jaskier gazed at him sternly.

“You can’t keep her,” Geralt growled.

“Gods Geralt I don’t want to keep her. She’s not some stray dog. She’s a little girl and I want to help her.”

The flash of anger from the Bard almost took Geralt by surprise. Almost.

“How?” he narrowed his amber eyes at him.

“By looking after her until we can find her a new home,” Jaskier stood, still holding the girls’ hand. She was looking up at him.

“No,” Geralt turned back to Roach.

“Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, letting the girl go and rounding on the Witcher, “You heartless, emotionally constipated, unbelievable, selfish, horses’ arse!”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him.

“No, don’t give me that look. For once in your life can you just please consider someone else before yourself? Try to understand that you are not the only person’s opinion that matters and what you decide is not always the right way, and that your obviously thick head goes hand in hand with your obviously thick heart!”

Jaskier was shaking, red in the face, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Geralt said nothing for a moment. Then – 

“Fine. But she’s you’re responsibility.”

Jaskier deflated, slight embarrassment tainting his young face.

“Um, where’d she go?” Geralt frowned at him.

Jaskier spun round. The girl wasn’t there.

“Shit! Little Girl?” he called, panic tightening his chest.

A snort from Roach had them both whip round to look at her. There was the girl, hand stretched up and giggling as Roach pressed her soft nose against the child’s palm. Jaskier sighed with relief.

“Let’s go,” Geralt grumbled. He jumped up on Roach and steered her out of the village.

Jaskier took the girl’s hand again and together they followed the Witcher.

***  
Jaskier had resorted to giving the girl a piggyback ride as the walk back to the other village seemed to tire her greatly. 

He kept her in place by holding her legs against his chest and her small hands rested amongst his thick hair.

Geralt hadn’t looked at him once during the journey and Jaskier felt bad that he had shouted at him. He had tried to apologise several times, but the words stuck in his throat, so he had resorted to humming the lullaby again, much to the girls delight.

Geralt led them right back to the tavern from the night before, put Roach into the stable then stomped inside.

Jaskier followed, putting the girl down and taking her hand again.

“Witcher!” the barkeep’s surprise alerted the other patrons in the tavern of their arrival, “You shouldn’t be here! What if they come back?”

“Let them come,” Geralt growled, throwing himself into a chair at an empty table and fixing his glare on something he couldn’t see.

Some of the patrons left.

Jaskier swallowed hard, trying to decide what he was going to do next.

He asked the barkeep for some water and bread then led the girl to a separate table from the Witcher, helping her into a chair so that she couldn’t see his amber scowl.

When the water and bread came, he thanked the barkeep, passing him a few coins, then poured a cup for the girl and one for himself.

She took it eagerly, gulping the water down and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Ignoring his own hunger, Jaskier offered the small loaf of bread to her and again she snatched it up.

He watched her for a moment, a soft smile etching his lips.

She looked up at him.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

Jaskier’s smile broadened, “Of course. You are very welcome.”

“I’m Sabria.”

“Nice to meet you Sabria. Though, I wish it were under better circumstances,” he flashed her a look of sympathy.

“My parents are dead,” her voice was flat, eyes glazed over slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier reached for her hand and she took it, “I’m going to make sure you’re going to be okay.”

She chewed her bread, brown eyes never wavering from his. She swallowed.

“Can you… sing me the lullaby?” she asked quietly.

Jaskier nodded.

Sabria put down her bread and shuffled until she was more comfortable in the chair.

Jaskier cleared his throat.

“High up in the mountains  
There lies a hidden lake,  
That’s where the moon sleeps  
When she’s not awake.  
Down in the waters,  
Her slumber is deep.  
But as the sun goes  
She wakes from her sleep.

She dances and dances  
Across the night sky  
Watching the world below  
Warm glow in her eye.

So don’t you worry love,  
As you drift asleep  
the moon, she watches over you  
then returns to the deep.”

As he finished her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing slowed as she fell asleep. 

Jaskier felt something swell in his chest and he had to choke it down. Don’t get attached, he told himself.

He closed his eyes a moment then turned to look at Geralt. The Witcher was watching him.

Jaskier sighed, rose slowly then joined Geralt at his table, making sure he could keep an eye on Sabria.

“I’ve not heard you sing that one before,” the Witcher gruffed, a strange look in his eyes.

“My mother used to sing it to me,” his voice was soft, and Geralt leaned closer to him.

“It’s… beautiful,” he hummed.

“Geralt…” Jaskier chewed his bottom lip, “I’m sorry. About what I said. Before.”

“No, I’m sorry Jaskier. You were right. She needs our help,” he captured Jaskier’s blue eyes with his own and held the gaze for a moment, “They all do. I’m going to make those Brown Cloaks pay.”

***

As the day drew on and the tavern slowly emptied of villagers, too nervous of what might happen if they stuck around, Jaskier drifted in and out of sleep, curled up on a bench not far from Sabria, full of meat and weak ale.

Geralt watched over them both. He was proud of Jaskier for standing up to him. Not everyone would have the balls to do so and he decided that in the future he would try to listen to the Bard more, even his aimless ramblings.

He thumbed a tankard of ale, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the Brown Cloaks showed up again. He was certain that one of the villagers here would have gotten word to them. He didn’t blame them. Fear drove people into all sorts of thinking.

Geralt knew he should probably move Jaskier and the girl somewhere safer, before the men arrived so that they were out of the way. But he didn’t have the heart to disturb them.

Eventually, he got up to wake the dosing Bard but as he touched Jaskier’s shoulder, the door to the tavern burst open and there stood the tall, broad man with his flock behind him.

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed.

Jaskier jerked awake, saw what was going on and quickly woke the girl, telling her to hide under the table, close her eyes and stay down.

“Well, well, well,” the man gleamed, “Look who didn’t heed their first warning. Now things are going to get messy.”

Geralt felt Jaskier tense by his side. He knew it was no use telling him to stay by the girl. He knew Jaskier could handle himself in a bar fight, he’d seen it on one too many occasions, but he hoped the Bard could keep his wits about him long enough to keep some of the men distracted while Geralt worked his way through them.

“Why did you burn that village?” Jaskier spat, a look on his face Geralt had never seen before.

The tall man shrugged.

“They were late on their payments. Had to set an example.”

Jaskier moved first. He launched a chair at the man and the fight started. 

Geralt moved quickly, sword clashing with the tall man’s blade as he took another man out with his right hook. He tried his best to keep and eye on the Bard.

Two men advanced on Jaskier, swords drawn, trying to goad him into attacking one of them. Armed with nothing but a pitcher, Jaskier bounced between them, making them think he was going in for an attack but backing out at the last minute.

“Enough,” one of them roared, swinging their sword high above him and running at the Bard.

Jaskier kicked a chair out from the table as the man reached him, and the man clattered to the floor. In the same moment the second man tried to rush him, and he went low, thrusting the pitcher into the man’s gut.

Geralt forced the tall man into a ferocious spar which the man was barely keeping up with. He couldn’t locate the fifth man.

Jaskier had jumped on the man he had hit with the pitcher, hitting him repeatedly in the head with the solid wood.

The man bucked, trying to get him off but this resulted in Jaskier’s foot colliding painfully with the man he had tripped who collapsed on the floor again. He hissed in pain and continued to clobber the man he had sprung on.

As Geralt disarmed the tall man and brought his blade to his throat a high-pitched scream broke the fight, everyone jamming to a halt.

“Look what I found boss,” it was the fifth man and he was holding Sabria up by the hair.

The colour drained from Jaskier’s face and in his distraction the man he had been hitting with the pitcher threw him to the floor and kicked him ferociously in the stomach. 

He grunted in pain and Sabria squeaked.

“All right,” Geralt growled, “Leave off.”

The man stood over Jaskier who had curled his arms protectively over his gut.

The tall man waltzed from the corner he had been trapped in and inspected the girl. She trembled in fear.

“Very nice,” he drawled, “I think we’ll keep her.”

Jaskier made a noise but was quickly silenced by another vicious kick.

“Kick him again and you will lose your leg,” Geralt snarled at him.

The man’s bravado flickered in the amber glare of the Witcher and he looked uncertainly at his boss.

The man laughed.

“You’ve lost Witcher. Now I get to kill all three of you.”

Jaskier was hauled to his feet, grimacing in pain.

His blue eyes blazed as Geralt looked at him. He could tell Jaskier wasn’t finished fighting and he gave the Bard a discreet nod. All he needed was a distraction.

Jaskier sucked in a breath and with all his strength, jumped backwards into the man restraining him. He caught the man off-guard and they both fell to the floor.

With all the attention now on the struggling men on the ground, Geralt swung his sword, slicing down the nearest man and advanced on the next. He took him out too with a powerful thrust then turned on the remaining three. The man holding Sabria had dropped her and she scurried back under that table. He tried to run at Geralt but the Witcher dodged him, catching his legs with a swift backwards slash.

The man Jaskier was grappling on the floor with, sprang up and ran out the tavern. 

“You coward!” the tall man screamed after him.

Geralt leered over him and the man lost all dignity.

“Please,” he cried, falling to his knees, “Don’t kill me. I don’t want to die, please!” 

“You should have thought of that before you burned a whole village to the ground,” Geralt growled.

“But – but – but you only kill monsters,” the man tried, tears and snot streaming down his face.

“Yes,” Geralt thundered, “I do.”

He stabbed the man with his sword and watched the light go out in the man’s eyes. He withdrew his blade and watched the man’s body slump to the floor.

He took a moment to breath.

“Jaskier?” a small voice brought him back.

The little girl was kneeling by Jaskier’s head, her small hands cupping his face.

“I’m alright,” Jaskier forced a smile, his breathing ragged but Geralt could tell from the way he was clutching his side and trembling, he probably had a broken rib. Or two.

Geralt helped the Bard up and propped him in a chair. Jaskier grit his teeth in pain but didn’t let himself cry out.

Sabria was immediately on him, giving him a tight hug. Jaskier did his best to return it without letting her feel him wince.

“Stay,” Geralt grumbled, “I’ll get a healer.”

***  
Jaskier had been bandaged up and given something for the pain. The healer was fairly certain he had broken at least four ribs and suggested lots of rest to give him time to heal.  
In his days being bed ridden, Sabria stayed with him, trying to get him to teach her the lute. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that it took years to master so he did his best and she tried very hard to learn.

Once Geralt was satisfied that Jaskier was on the mend, he had spent the days clearing up the carnage in the tavern and then speaking to the villagers to see who would be able to take the girl.

There was a tanner and his wife who had been trying to have children for years but never being able to conceive. Geralt spent a lot of time talking to them, making sure he vetted them thoroughly so that Jaskier would be satisfied with releasing the girl to them. 

They seemed very excited and once they met Sabria they fell in love with her. Geralt could tell it would be hard for Jaskier to let her go but the Bard seemed to approve of his choice and when the day came where Jaskier was strong enough to travel, Geralt kept a comforting hand on his shoulder as he knelt beside the girl he had rescued to say goodbye to her.

“I won’t forget you,” she cried, slinging her arm’s round Jaskier’s neck.

“Nor I you, little one,” Jaskier held her for a moment.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him, leaning back.

Jaskier blinked away tears.

He pulled his lute case over and presented it to the girl.

“I want you to have this,” he said, “keep practicing and who knows, maybe I’ll see you in the great halls of kings and queens one day.”

She took the instrument and hugged him again, nearly hitting him in the face with it.

Jaskier laughed.

Sabria left with her knew family and Geralt guided Jaskier to Roach.

He adjusted her girth as Jaskier stared out across the village.

“Jaskier?” he grumbled.

“Hmm?”

“I’m proud of you.”

“You’re what?”

“You heard.”

“Not sure I did though.” 

“Hm.”

Jaskier took one last look at the village before allowing Geralt to help him mount Roach.

“Geralt?”

“What?”

“How much coin do we have?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to need a new lute.”


End file.
